What Are Brothers For?
by Pit Viper of Doom
Summary: It's January 2004, and America needs a little favor from Canada. What's it going to take to get him to agree? Brother!Fluff, no slash.


"No."

America blinked, momentarily thrown for a loop. "...What?"

"I said, _no_," Canada repeated, his voice quiet but firm.

"No?"

"Yes, no."

America blinked again. "...So is that a yes or a—"

"_I mean no, Alfred._" Okay, then. No ambiguity there. Canada might be halfway invisible to most of the world, but that didn't mean he couldn't make himself clear.

America clasped his hands beseechingly and gave his twin what he hoped were decent Bambi eyes. "Please? You'd be doing me a big favor—"

"No."

"C'mon, you're my brother and this is what brothers do."

"No."

"You want to do brother things, right?"

"Not if it's this."

"I'll love you forever—"

"You barely notice me. You _tripped over me_ not five minutes ago before you even knew I was here."

"I'll never do it again?"

"The answer is no, Alfred!" The exclamation point was relative; only Canada could make a timid mumble sound like a shout.

Sagging and groaning melodramatically, America placed his hands firmly on his brother's shoulders. "I am quite willing to beg, you know."

"I'm sure you are, Mr. Hero."

"What will it take? Huh?"

"Nothing you can give," Canada replied matter-of-factly. "Because no matter what you say, the answer will be no."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Puuuhhhhh—"

"No."

"—_leeeeeeee—_"

"No."

"—_eeeeeeeeeze?_"

"No."

America abruptly released his brother and whirled around, groaning loudly again. Behind him, Canada crossed his arms in a perfect picture of obstinacy.

"Alfred, no one notices me. If they do, they either don't know who I am, or they think I'm you. Nothing against you personally, but I'd prefer the first two to the third, eh? It's bad enough the other nations do it, and I'm not going to encourage humans to do it, too."

His brother spun around to face him in an incredibly sloppy parody of a pirouette that would have driven Russia to drink (more). "C'mon, Mattie, it's just for one day!"

"It's an important day for you!" Canada retorted. "And you want me to stand in for you and hope no one notices?"

"Well, that's the beauty of it being you, brah," America pointed out. "No one _will_ notice."

The look Canada gave him could have split rock. "What could possibly be more important that has you resorting to identical twin hijinks?"

America was suddenly avoiding Canada's eyes while he twiddled his thumbs. "Oh, well... uh... Japan told me he has the English release of _Tales of Symphonia_, and I won't get that until July, which is like forever, so..."

"Really? You're ditching it for video games? Your _president's_ being inaugurated!"

America shrugged. "A second time, bro. I was already there for the first one."

"Roosevelt was inaugurated three times, and you were there for every one," Canada reminded him pointedly.

America blinked, confused. "Wait, what? He was only in twice, wasn't he?"

"The _other_ Roosevelt."

"Oh. Well, yeah. He was a cool guy. They both were. Of course I sat in for them."

Canada spread his arms. "Then what's so different about this one?"

America stared at him incredulously.

"...Okay, stupid question," Canada conceded. "But still. He's _your_ president, _your_ boss, so _you_ have to dress nice and stand there while he gets sworn in. Not me, _you_."

"But I don't _want_ him to be my boss again," America whined. "It's bad enough I have to put up with him another four years, do I really have to stand there and shake his hand and smile and nod and pretend my economy isn't about to get screwed even more?"

"You didn't whine this much the first time. Believe me, I know. No one ever holds anything back when I'm around. I hear everything." Canada's face darkened. "_Everything_."

"It was an honest misjudgment back then!" was America's excuse. "And technically he didn't even win! Now, it's like... it's like when you burn your hand on the stove, and then you poke it to see if it happens again!"

"Didn't you do that yesterday?"

"Not the point!"

"You're right," Canada agreed. "The point is that my answer is still no."

America sighed. "Okay. Canada?"

"Whatever it is, it won't change my mind."

"If you do this one thing for me..."

"Which I won't."

"Do it just this once..."

"Nope."

"..and I will hug you."

"Don't ca—wait." Canada gaped at him. "...Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"I... um..." Canada's eyes seemed to have gotten rounder. "You... really?"

"How about it, brah?"

"Um..." Canada dithered for a moment. "Wait, when you say 'hug,' do you mean...?"

"I mean a real, honest-to-God hug, no less then five full seconds. But you have to agree to do this for me first."

Canada pouted. "You're evil, you know that?"

"So the Phelps family keeps telling me." America grinned, spreading his arms. "How about it, bro?"

His brother squeezed his eyes shut and growled his frustration. "If you tell anyone this is all it took, the White House gets it. Again."

"Hey, maybe it'll scare off Dubya. Does this mean we have a deal?"

"Hoser." Canada muttered, and promptly flung himself into his brother's waiting arms.

America snickered, and briefly squeezed his arms around Canada's midriff. Not enough to hurt, just enough that he would feel it—

_Squeak._

America started. He pulled back slightly, just far enough so that he could see his suddenly wide-eyed brother's face. "Did you just—"

"No!"

Intrigued, America squeezed again.

"No, don't—!" _Squeak._

"Aww!" America squeezed again. _Squeak_. "That's so cute! I didn't know you did that!"

"So help me, Al—" _Squeak_. "Cut it out—" _Squeak_.

"It's like I'm giving the Heimlich to a giant mouse!"

"Gah!" _Squeak_. "Al!" _Squeak_.

"Do you hear that, Mattie?" America asked in a sing-song voice.

"Will you knock it o—" _Squeak. Squeak. Squeak._ _Squeak_.

"I hear _leverage_."

"Al, if you tell anyone, I'll—" _Squeak_. "Stop it!"

America wasn't going to tell anyone, of course. If they couldn't notice his brother long enough to figure it out themselves, well, then why should he let them in on the fun?

* * *

><p><strong>I regret nothing.<strong>


End file.
